Crusade - James Lowder [72]
9
The Patchwork Army Dwarves crowded one side of the pavilion; orcs milled together on the other. At the long, low table, King Azoun, Princess Alusair, and Vangerdahast sat together. Torg and Vrakk glared at one another spitefully over mugs of ale.
Though there was a murmur of Orcish rumbling through the room, none of the dwarves and no one at the main table spoke.
Vrakk, leader of the orcs, hefted his silver mug and gulped a mouthful of ale. The brown liquid rolled down the side of his gray-green face and dribbled off of his lower canine teeth, which protruded from his large mouth. "We fight for Ak-soon," he said at last. "Masters at Keep no tell us to fight for dglinkarz."
The orcish leader lifted his piggish snout a bit and sneered at Torg.
The orcs in the tent grunted and snarled their agreement. Many of the sweaty, drooling soldiers repeated the word dglinkarz and nodded. The dwarves already had a hand on their sword hilts, so the orcs didn't notice them almost universally tighten their grips.
Azoun looked to Vangerdahast, who shrugged. The wizard had cast spells enabling himself to understand what the dwarves and orcs said, but the term the orcish leader had used seemed untranslatable. "Fight for whom?"
Vangerdahast said to Vrakk in Common.
The orc narrowed his beady red eyes. "Dglinkarz," he snapped, pointing at the dwarven king. With a sweeping gesture, he indicated all the dwarven troops. "They all dglinkarz." It was obvious from the tone the orc used that it was a venomous insult.
Torg curled his hand into a fist and held it in front of his mouth. "I will not stand for this, Azoun," he growled. "I will not sit idly by while this beast insults me."
The Cormyrian king turned sharply to the orcish leader. "And if I order you to fight alongside the dwarves?"
"If Ak-soon orders," Vrakk said, "we follow." He dropped one elbow to the table, slouched slightly, and scratched the coarse hair on his arm. "That be law from Zhentil Keep."
Azoun leaned forward. "Even if I tell you to fight on the side of-" he paused and glanced at Torg "-dglinkarz?"
Scowling so much that his yellowed lower canines almost jutted to his snout, Vrakk nodded. "We follow Ak-soon."
"He may follow you," Torg snapped as he stood. "I will not. All the denizens from the Realm of the Dead could attack Faerun before I'd fight beside this rabble." The ironlord angrily motioned his guards to leave, then stomped from the pavilion himself. The orcs' jeers followed the armored dwarves out of the tent.
Azoun could hear Torg issue a loud string of orders outside. Alusair leaned close to her father and said, "He's commanded the guards to kill any orcs that haven't left the camp in an hour."
"Dwarves not so good warriors, eh, Ak-soon?" the orcish leader bellowed.
He slapped the table so hard it rattled, then broke into a loud, snorting fit of laughter. The rest of his party followed suit.
Her hand on the hilt of her sword, Alusair stood. "I'll see if I can talk to the ironlord, Father." She paused, scanned the room of orcish troops, and added coldly, "Unless you want to see a battle start in camp, tell these… troops to muster where we met them, in the field to the east. Torg isn't bluffing about killing any orcs found in camp."
Vrakk stopped laughing abruptly. "What you say, girlie? You think dglinkarz frighten us?" He smashed his silver mug on the table's edge, denting it. "We no leave until ready."
Alusair drew her sword, an action that was answered in kind by the dozen orcs in the tent. Azoun and Vangerdahast stood up slowly, and the wizard prepared a spell that would extricate the humans from the situation if need be.
For a long moment, there was no sound save for the orcs' heavy, grunting breaths.
Surprisingly Vrakk didn't move. He sat at the table, gripping the dented mug, staring at the princess. "You not like Ak-soon, girlie. You like dglinkarz, bad soldier."
"Look at that mug you're holding, pig," Alusair hissed. "You see those skulls the dwarves are piling